


Blindness

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Porn, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-29
Updated: 2008-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar takes advantage of Mohinder's blindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindness

Mohinder turns his head to follow the sounds of Sylar's footsteps as he walks about the room.

"Zane?"

The name is caught amidst a laugh, a bemused half-smile playing across his face when there is no response from Sylar.

The window is icy cold against Sylar's naked back and under his bare feet the carpet feels worn and cheap. A slow trickle of condensation trails down his spine but he doesn't stir and he doesn't speak.

"Zane?" Mohinder asks again. His tone is more uncertain now. He sounds breathless but not with panic, not yet. There's an exhilaration in Mohinder's voice that leaves Sylar both intrigued and repulsed. He cannot understand why Mohinder would willingly make himself so vulnerable. Powerless, blind and restrained, Sylar can think of no worse fate. But Mohinder hasn't simply submitted out of some misplaced sense of trust. He's thrown himself into it headfirst, holding his hands to the headboard to let Sylar lash him to bars, lifting his head to allow Sylar to wrap the scarf around his eyes. "_Tighter_", Mohinder had insisted, begging Sylar to strip him of even the small defence his sense of sight grants him.

Mohinder stares blindly in Sylar's general direction. Sylar can hear his breath as it comes in increasingly heavy pants. Mohinder's whole body is taut with anticipation. His cock is hard already, without a single touch or kiss yet laid upon it and Sylar can smell Mohinder's musk permeating the stale, heated air of the room. Mohinder's scent is rich; heavier on Sylar's palate than his own. He flares his nostrils at the afternote that hints of bleach or chlorine. _Mohinder_ seems infused in Sylar's every inhalation.

Sylar spreads his thighs a little as he lounges back against the glass. The sight before him, the sounds he catches and that inescapable scent are overwhelming him. It is as if Sylar's senses have become over-sensitised in sympathy to Mohinder's blinkered state. He doesn't dare touch, not when his dick twitches and begins to fill despite the length of half a room between them. Sylar knows that it won't be long until he too is wet and dripping within his jeans.

Mohinder seems to sense Sylar's restless movements, hearing perhaps the rub of his belt against the windowsill or the slide of denim on denim as Sylar crosses his feet at his ankles. Mohinder tilts his body towards the window, back arching at an awkward angle as the bonds around his wrists constrict his movement.

"Zane?" he whispers, voice hushed as if speaking might stir something in the darkness that he'd rather not awaken. It's far too late for that kind of common sense, Sylar thinks. Mohinder already holds the attention of the most dangerous creature he is ever likely to encounter. The way he calls again, "_Zane_", a little louder now, in a hoarse stage whisper, makes Sylar smile. Only Mohinder would cry out to be comforted by the monster from his nightmares.

With a flick of his wrist, Sylar turns on the shower in the bathroom directly opposite. Mohinder jerks, twisting towards the sudden and unexpected sound. Sylar can hear his startled exclamation and the way he curses Zane's name at the unwelcome shock. Mohinder presses his forehead to his bicep as he tries to slow his panicked breathing. Sylar watches fascinated as Mohinder's fingers flex against the headboard.

"Zane!"

Mohinder sounds annoyed now. He struggles half-heartedly against the scarf that ties him down but Sylar's telekinetic touch ensures that he cannot work the woollen knot loose. He's grunting as he writhes on the bed. The sounds he makes are not unlike those that Sylar had coaxed from him the night before, with fingers, cock and tongue.

Mohinder's cock bobs against his stomach with every undulation of his body and Sylar thinks that it looks obscene, as if Mohinder is thrashing under the touches of an invisible, spectral lover. He's glad that he has left the curtains flung wide open. The room is dark and the night outside darker still but the thought alone of what a passer-by might see if they should choose to peer through the uncovered glass goes straight to the base of Sylar's dick.

The "_Zane_" that comes now is a helpless, broken whimper. It's a sound of surrender and a plea for mercy that Sylar chooses not to acknowledge. The rising unease in Mohinder's voice, a questioning fear that threatens to break to the surface with Mohinder's every panted breath, is more erotic to Sylar than the sounds of Mohinder's orgasm could ever be.

It's hard to tell in the low light, but Sylar thinks Mohinder must be shaking. He has brought his knees to his chest, pressing his thighs together to protect his exposed stomach and genitals as best he can. Despite the steady stream of the shower, Mohinder darts his head from side to side, casting an unseeing gaze between the bathroom door and where Sylar stands. The weave of the scarf is tight. Sylar has tested it over his own eyes and he knows that Mohinder cannot possibly see where it is that he is lurking, waiting and observing, but it is unnerving that Mohinder seems drawn to stare at the exact spot where Sylar is. Sylar shakes the feeling off even as his hackles start to rise.

He creates telekinetic knees that climb upon the bed, and telekinetic hands that push apart Mohinder's legs, pulling at his ankles until Mohinder's feet are flat to the mattress, framing hips that are not there. Mohinder gasps as sheets shift under an invisible weight and he shudders at Sylar's inhuman touch.

"Zane," Mohinder sighs. The name comes out long and breathy. Relief. "Zane, I—" Mohinder tries to sound stern, but an incorporeal finger presses at his lips to shush him. Mohinder tilts up his chin. The length of his throat is stretched and offered up in complete submission as Mohinder presses his mouth against Sylar's mental touch. Sylar can sense the kiss Mohinder bestows upon the finger that isn't there. And when Mohinder's head falls back with a guttural moan, content against the pillows, Sylar moans too. He conceals the sound of his pleasure beneath Mohinder's groan so that Mohinder cannot catch the noise and pinpoint his location. Sylar is forced to bite his lip to cut off his cry when Mohinder's fades away.

Sylar caresses him with telekinetic hands. Fingers, thumbs and palms stroke and grope, up and down his chest and stomach. The scratch of Sylar's imaginary nails on Mohinder's skin is no rougher than the catch of their physical counterparts had been before but Mohinder hisses louder, more vehemently, all the same. He arches off the sheets, body quivering and oversensitive with only touch and smell and sound to guide his pleasure. Sylar plucks at his nipples and teases his navel. He creates invisible teeth that nip at Mohinder's neck and ears, and telekinetic lips that leave dry, flavourless kisses along Mohinder's clavicles.

When Sylar brushes those ethereal lips daringly over Mohinder's mouth, he's sure that Mohinder will notice the lack of breath or body heat, or even just the curious absence of tongue, but Mohinder's senses must be scattered. He merely frowns at the delicate touch and licks his lips, lifting his head from the pillow to unsuccessfully try and claim a more substantial kiss. It's then that Sylar's hand slips beneath his own waistband.

Cock in hand, squeezing his firm and throbbing flesh, Sylar walks towards the bed with telekinetically muffled footsteps. He stands facing the apex of Mohinder's thighs, his view unimpeded from cock to crown. Mohinder twists from side to side, thrashing under Sylar's mental touch in a frenetic way that Sylar hadn't achieved with his own hands. He wonders idly how long it will take for Mohinder to realise no physical being could stimulate him in so many places, so intimately and so thoroughly, all at once.

Sylar's jeans are pulled off and away with a telekinetic grip that lets him keep hold of his dick. He jacks himself with long and steady strokes as he climbs upon the bed. Each of his knees fits snugly in their respective telekinetic impressions and Sylar's balls tighten as the heat of self-satisfaction rises in his chest. Sylar touches Mohinder gently, a feather light caress to the soft skin of his inner thigh and Mohinder's entire body stills, suspended and still contorted, at a single brush of Sylar's real fingers. "Oh," Mohinder gasps. And "_Oh_", again, breathless, startled and aroused.

For a moment, Sylar worries that the contrast is too much. Is it so obvious then, he wonders; the difference between the caress of his skin and the caress of his mind? But far from trying to get away, Mohinder wraps his legs around Sylar's hips and pulls him closer. Sylar crawls over him, covering his motionless body with his own, pressing his weight down to needlessly pin Mohinder beneath him. Physical lips meet physical lips in a kiss that is everything the peck before was not – hot, steady breath; pounding blood and racing hearts; wet, lascivious tongues. Sylar has never felt as alive as when he realises that Mohinder hasn't noticed the difference at all.

He considers what else he could do to Mohinder like this, what other violations and abuses he could perpetrate with Mohinder none the wiser. He could penetrate him with his mind, stretching him with telekinetic fingers, a perfect replica of his own. He could fuck him with an incorporeal dick to see if he could mimic the pulse and sputter of come inside a yielding body. But Mohinder squirms under him, leaving a sticky mess of pre-come along Sylar's abdomen and Sylar realises that his own cock is leaking just as liberally.

Sylar leans his forehead against Mohinder's brow. His presses his face to the woollen scarf wrapped around Mohinder's eyes and with every blink, Sylar's eyelashes catch in the weave of the yarn. Sylar's chest is rising and falling in time with Mohinder's breath, wet and warm against Sylar's lips.

Sylar takes both their cocks in hand; his hand, flesh and blood, with all the flaws the physical demands. He doesn't like to touch himself with the tendrils of his ability. Sylar won't sully it with the demeaning act of self-gratification.

Mohinder doesn't make a sound as Sylar strokes them. His whole body tense, Mohinder seems to have given over his entire being to feel, with sights and sounds absent around him. When they come, they bite at each others lips, maintaining as best they can the silence. Their orgasm is heralded by the ticking of the bedside clock and the click of the central heating. The semen that splatters on Sylar's skin seems hotter than it ever has before and the snap of his climax, low in his gut, feels more pleasurable than he thought possible.

"Zane," Mohinder breathes contentedly in his ear. He wriggles his head against the pillows and the makeshift blindfold shimmies to his forehead. Sylar's chest feels tight at the sudden understanding that at any point, at any time, if pushed too far, Mohinder might have seen Sylar's telekinetic display. An aftershock shudders through him, his dick giving a weak, desperate jump, at Mohinder's complicity in what Sylar has done. Mohinder has been blind beyond his lack of sight, and when Sylar shuts off the shower with his mind, it doesn't surprise him that Mohinder doesn't notice.

"_Zane_," is all he manages before Sylar's lips stifle any further words.


End file.
